


new earth

by loupettes



Series: just the bits in-between [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humour, Idiots in Love, Missing Scene, Platonic Dating, Post-Episode: s02e01 New Earth, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Romance, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loupettes/pseuds/loupettes
Summary: Part one of thejust the bits in-betweenseries: a collection of missing scenes taking place between or during each episode of series 2.new earth. Set after the Doctor and Rose drop Chip off to say goodbye to Cassandra, where the two spend a night in New New York getting to know the new him. Fluff, humour and a sprinkling of romance. [COMPLETE]
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: just the bits in-between [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095053
Comments: 34
Kudos: 79





	1. Part one

She was a little sad after the doors closed behind her. Truth be told, she’d been close to tears just now, watching Chip - well, _Cassandra_ \- tell - well, Cassandra, that she was beautiful. She really was, thought Rose. It was a shame, and there really was something so mournful about preserving yourself beyond recognition for the sake of survival. She tried to understand her, more so now that she had had a glimpse into Cassandra's mind and she felt in some way connected her. But Rose couldn't help but consider what she would do, how far _she_ might go to preserve herself. She imagined not very - if at all - but times like this morning, when it was just the two of them in a new place and a new adventure up ahead, she never wanted it to end.

She looked at the Doctor, who had folded his coat over the coral and appeared to have also been touched by the scene, and she thought about his regeneration. It wasn’t the same, of course not, but he too had preserved himself beyond recognition.

She liked him, though. In fact, she really liked him. He was so... easy to be with. She could imagine wanting to spend all her time with this Doctor as well. She’d been worrying since Christmas that, when it dwindled down to just the two of them, she’d realise it just wasn’t the same. 

They had their occasional moments alone back at the Powell Estate. Little walks around outside, trips to the shops, that sort of stuff. He was just as miserable as the other Doctor at domestics, like the time she had to cash her cheques from her Grandma and he was bored out of his mind. But she already felt comfortable enough to tease him about it rather than feel guilty, which was a good sign. Some parts of their relationship hadn’t faltered, and her heart warmed at the thought.

Some parts had, though. She noticed he was a lot more emotional. Which she always thought would be a good thing, and sometimes it was, it was just that his frustration was more _frustrated_ and his irritation was more _irritated_. The other Doctor, he was good at gritting his teeth and getting on with it - admittedly begrudgingly, whereas this one had a harder time controlling his outbursts. She also felt a bit like he was looking after her a bit less; not so much keeping a watchful eye under his care but more treating her as his mate. It was nice to feel a bit more like his equal, but she missed that almost fatherly quality. She missed the accent and, perhaps most saddening: she _missed_ the way he would say her name. 

But some were nice changes, like the fact that he looked a lot less like he knew what he was doing, a little helpless and lost and admittedly _adorable_. Still struggling a bit with the hand-eye coordination, like yesterday when he tripped over his footing because he’s now a little taller than he’s used to, or kept whacking his head at her mum’s on the door. And he was also less inclined to complain when she offered him help, like how he still keeps cutting himself shaving - true, he always used to, but he lets her fix him up or dab a bit of concealer here and there. He was a bit more physical too; sure, he made a fuss when Jackie licked her thumb to rub food off his face but it looked less painful to refrain from scowling at her afterwards. 

She’d sort of lost herself in her thoughts and she realised she’d been lazily watching him fiddle with the controls, twisting a few spheres and flicking a few buttons. He was still so energetic, even after all they'd been through today; she struggled to keep up with that new quality, she had to admit. She couldn’t help but yawn.

He looked up. “Bed?” 

She pulled a face in her deliberating. “Na. Still a bit too... _meh_ for that.”

“Meh. That an official word?”

“Yeah. You know, like… _meh_. Just feel a bit … _ugh_.”

“Your vocabulary is drastically diminishing in quality, I think it’s definitely time for bed.”

“Na, still a bit too _meh_ for that.”

He rolled his eyes impatiently, but she did see the corners of his lips tighten as he repressed a smile. He turned his attention back to the monitor. 

She _was_ a little tired, though. But she was feeling quite saddened still; she could do with a bit of cheering up. She thought about a cup of tea in the kitchen, but then she liked the time they had this morning, just the two of them, enjoying the sights of the city and she remembered where they were.

“Let’s go visit New New York. Fancy a night out.”

“Blimey. You were yawning not 20 seconds ago!”

“Well, my hair’s nice and I could do with having a laugh.” She shrugged, a little embarrassed at her feeble attempt to fish for a compliment. “Can’t take me to see New New York, get possessed, run from every single deadly disease in the world and call it a day there.”

“I think that’s probably _exactly_ why we should call it a day there.” 

“Still a party pooper then?” she huffed, crouching down to regrettably take off her shoes. 

“Quite the contrary,” he protested. “Pooper of the party I am not. The Party Motor, they call me.” 

She almost asked him _who_ called him that, but she'd learnt the hard way to never ask the Doctor to elaborate on a boastful claim. She knew she could tease out an acceptance to her request eventually, though, and so was deliberately taking her time, making a sad and dramatic sigh of resignation. He watched her, eyebrow raised.

“Alright, fine. Let’s do it. Night out on the town. Paint the town red.”

“ _'Paint the town red'_? Think I’ve changed my mind.”

He held up a finger to shush her. “Nope, we’re doing this. And we’re doing it right. Not taking no for an answer. Go get dressed, Rose Tyler. I’m taking you out.”

She fluttered in excitement, a cheeky grin at having won this round. She looked around for her bag before she spotted it stuffed under the jump seat. She scrambled to it, the Doctor bending and swerving as she dashed past him. 

“We talking jeans and a hoodie or black-tie only?” she asked.

“You’d look odd wearing only a black-tie, Rose, but you’re the one who suggested a night out so by all means.”

So he was still a sarcastic little thing, then. She sat on the floor and went through her clothes whilst he tinkered around with something she daren’t ask the name of, or its function, lest she die of boredom. She quite liked the top she was wearing at the moment and, after going through her clothes, and being too lazy to go to the wardrobe to look for anymore, she looked down and deliberated her trousers.

“Hold on, what’s wrong with this?”

“Hmm?”

“You said go get dressed, but what’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the, well, whatever it was. “Nothing. Suppose we could go out like this.”

“Well, one of us is going to have to make the effort, so I’m putting on a dress.”

His mouth gaped in offence - and mild disappointment, she detected. “Not a fan of the new suit?”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

He huffed and finished off with his odd little device in silence. After a few minutes, he looked down at his suit and grumbled some form of indignant resign. “Right, then. What have I got to change into?”

“Christ, don’t change your face again. I’ve had enough change from you.”

“Funny,” he mumbled.

She pulled out a dress, one she’d got for Christmas that she was going to wear at New Years, but ended up thinking it was a bit too fancy for the local pub. “Oh, I don’t know. What are we doing?”

“ _You_ were the one who wanted to go out - you tell me!”

“A girl tells you she wants you to take her out, you tell her to get dressed up and then you shrug and say _'I dunno, you tell me'-"_ she put on her best miserable-Doctor voice and he grunted. “Still a crap date, then.”

She found it amusing to watch him try to make sense of the conversation - who had said what and when. He gave up in the end and just huffed.

She still loved to wind him up, apparently. She clocked his new _she’s-driving-me-mad_ face: closed eyes, thin lips, furrowed brow slowly receding as he counted to 10 in his head. It was a nice new face, mind. As far as changing your face beyond recognition goes, this one wasn’t a bad one. Not a bad one at all. 

She grinned, and he looked at her cautiously.

“I know what we’re doing tonight.” 


	2. Part two

“This one’s even worse than the second.”

“ _Nothing_ could be worse than the second one. That’s why I’m going to frame it and hang it up in the control room.”

He sniffed; even that sounded defeated and disheartened. “Out of the four caricatures we've had done in the last 70 minutes, in not one of them has my face been decent. What’s with everyone overemphasising the nose?”

“Well…”

He stopped in his tracks and she turned to look at him, holding in her giggle. But she was caught off guard when she took in the view of the city around them, towering above them, unlike any city she’d seen back home. The future was always wonderful, looking at how the Earth evolves and megacities only become more dense and vertical. She gazed at the flickering lights neatly dotted across the buildings at night, neon signs flashing both high up in the sky and nestled in the crooks of the paths and streets at eye-level, the cars and vehicles buzzing above them quietly, much less rushed now without the race to beat the daytime traffic. When her gaze flittered back down to the Doctor, he was still staring at her in anticipation of her answer. She finally did release her giggle then.

“Great,” he muttered. “First the ears, now the nose.”

“If it helps,” she held out her arm to him and he linked his with it, “I’m stuck with this face for the rest of my life. Anything I don’t like about it is permanent.”

“Yes but see the difference is all these caricatures of you emphasise your eyes, which is a good thing. Also, no. It doesn’t help.”

They wandered along the riverbank slowly, Rose still taking in the sights of the city and the Doctor lost in his own thoughts. One of the things she always loved about travelling to Earth in a different time was spotting the familiar; the quiet patter of other people and the distant sounds of bustling street markets contrasted against the flying cars and levitating skateboards. The common and everyday experience was somehow comforting, she felt like she could be anywhere in the universe at any point in time and she could always find home. 

She spotted another artist sitting quietly on the river bank and tugged at the crook of his arm.

The man sitting at his sketch displayed his portfolio on the ground - different to the previous four drawings they’d had done, which had drawn their portraits in various different styles but all simply their faces alone. This artist had sketched people as though they weren’t intending on being sketched: looking out at the river, eating an ice cream, watching their children playing around. But the paints he used were gorgeous: mostly light pastels with the occasional neon highlight or shadow. The other drawings had been unique in themselves, with every artist offering their own take on this unfamiliar world they knew so well, but Rose felt drawn to these in particular. 

“Pay careful attention to this one’s face. It’s new,” Rose added after they’d settled on a price.

“Ah, _'East Village Surgery'_?”

“No, I think it was called _'Autons',_ ” The Doctor quipped.

Rose chuckled, and they pulled the chairs out to sit down. The artist stopped them, and they both held still in anticipation. He looked around them, his eyes flickered in contemplation, searching for inspiration perhaps. Rose felt a little giddy, she looked back down at the paintings on the ground and wondered what the man was thinking. He looked back at Rose, then back at the Doctor. He narrowed his gaze then and really studied him; Rose glanced next to her and the Doctor caught her eye. She didn’t need to know his face to know they were both trying not to laugh. 

“Face the city, lean against the railing.”

Rose took another look at the Doctor with eyes wide. He was just as bewildered as she was by the looks of things; both scared and oddly intrigued at the same time.

“ _Draw me like one of your french girls,_ ” she whispered in response to their command.

He nudged her quiet, and he had to exhale slowly in an attempt to refrain from laughing. They did as they were told and faced the city across the water, elbows propped on the railing as the artist settled in behind them. Rose glanced over her shoulder in confusion; she thought they were getting their faces sketched, but apparently not. She took another look at the display of his work, and none had been done this way. The artist gestured for her to look ahead, and she turned back around to face the skyline. 

“Remind me once more of your impeccable reasoning behind this particular gallivant?”

She tried her best not to laugh. “Thought it would be fun to have your new face sketched.”

“That why we’re having the backs of our heads sketched now?”

“Yep, that’ll be why.”

She liked the sound of his new laugh. It was easier to reach, somehow, as though a thick layer of preservation and protection had wilted. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought it might be a laugh. Can’t go sightseeing and not get a caricature done, it’s tourism 101.”

“ _That’s_ tourism?” She caught him out of the corner of her eye look at her as though gauging to see if she were joking. “Why have a picture of your own face - something you know very well - in a new city you _don't_ know very well?”

“Well, because you don’t know your face very well, do you?”

He opened his mouth, paused, then smiled. “Not bad, Rose Tyler.”

"Thank you."

She couldn’t help but giggle at their situation: being sketched from behind while they both tried their best to look ahead and act normal. She could tell by the twitching of the Doctor’s lips that he was feeling the same, and when he’d only raise an eyebrow at the sideways glance in her direction and they caught each other's eye and both start giggling. 

“What’s your favourite colour?” she blurted, a fleeting question plucked from a pool of many she’d wanted to ask him since regenerating, admittedly not a particularly pressing one.

He blinked and furrowed his brow in confusion. “ _What’s my favourite colour?_ ”

“Yeah!”

“What are you, _six_?”

“Older than you.”

He threw his head back and scoffed. “I need to sit you down and talk to you about how numbers work.”

“Well, it’s true! You’re not much more than a week old!”

“What’s your impeccable reasoning behind _that_ one?!” 

She laughed, catching an awfully transmissible case of the giggles with him. “Look, just tell me your bloody favourite colour and we can move on.”

“ _Move on?_ What is this, twenty questions?”

_“What is your god damn favourite colour?!”_

“I don’t know! I haven’t had to ask myself that question in a really long time!” 

“You’re not asking yourself, _I’m_ asking you!”

“Well, _you_ try! What’s _your_ favourite colour?”

“Orange! See? Easy! Now, _what’s yours_?”

He threw his hands up in defeat. “Indomitable mongrel,” she heard him mutter, although his lips were curled in a reluctant smile. “Orange.”

“Stop it!”

“Fine! You’re right, I don’t know!” His admission was incredibly amusing, especially the way he was genuinely a little peeved about it. 

She hid her grin well and feigned disapproval. “You’re nine hundred years old and _you don’t know what your favourite colour is?”_

“You know, I’ve come to realise I’m less fond of you in this new form.”

She nudged his arm and he slowly rocked sideways - for a moment, she was a little worried they were going to be told to behave from the artist behind her. His hands were in front of him, clasped together, and she could tell a difference even with them. They were less rough; his fingers were longer and more delicate. He seemed less tense - true, it could be the evening and the fact that they’d been giggling non-stop since they’d stepped foot outside the TARDIS and witnessed their first street fight between a man and a cat only 35 seconds later, but in general, he seemed a little less flighty. More settled. Her smile had faded, she realised, and her gaze narrowed in curiosity. 

“Do you _feel_ different?”

She hadn’t meant for it to sound so… intimate. She realised only after she'd said it that her voice had come across uneven. She’d simply meant to ask him if he felt different _physiologically:_ could he tell a difference in the beating of his heart or the way his body sort of functioned generally. But, as she’d asked, she realised there was a hidden implication in her question, especially following his witty assertion. It sounded a lot like there was a missing piece at the end of the sentence she'd refrained from voicing at the last second: do you feel different _about me?_ She hoped he hadn’t picked up on it, but his hesitation at the question and the twitch in his fingers might have suggested he in fact did.

Or, maybe he really was just focusing in on his physiological feelings. 

“No,” he said quietly. 

She was even less sure which question he was answering. Her heart fluttered once more, as it had been doing many times that evening she noted, and she quickly changed the subject. “Still can’t believe you blew up in flames in front of me, changed your entire body and just said _‘now where was I?’_.”

He sniffed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“Well, if it wasn’t for you pointing out your new teeth then I probably wouldn’t have.”

She heard him hum in agreement and she lost herself to her own thoughts, or lack thereof; simply enjoying the gleefulness of being somewhere new and dazzling with someone she spent most of her time laughing with. They remained quiet, keeping themselves to themselves, until the voice behind her alerted her to her surroundings once more.

“All done.”

The Doctor flinched besides her and she realised he’d also been lost in his own thoughts. The artist gave one final glance at the paper before turning it to show them, and Rose’s eyes widened in surprise at the admittedly gorgeous painting. The colours he had used for the skyline were vibrant all-round, blues and purples mixed with the glittering golds of the buildings towering in the distance. When it came to Rose and the Doctor, the colours softened, the strokes relaxed. He’d captured their mood perfectly, smiles that reached the eyes and Rose almost felt like an intruder looking at them.

“Best picture we’ve had is the one where we’re facing the other way,” the Doctor commented after they'd paid and thanked the artist. 

“Can still see your nose, though.”

“Well, it can’t all be good,” he sighed sadly. “Still a dashing handsome fella.”

Rose was looking at the picture. It was… she didn’t know how the man had done it, but he’d captured something. She squinted in search of it, and she put it down how their bodies just sort of… fit. They weren’t touching, but the angles, the sizes, everything complimented each other. The way she could tell they were relaxed. Overall, the painting looked natural - friendly and warm. She liked the idea that, to the outsider, she and the Doctor looked like they were really close.

 _“‘Yes, Doctor. Dashing and handsome indeed!’_ \- Thank you, Rose, I needed to hear that.”

His voice startled her, and her wit caught back up to her shortly after. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘vain’.”

“I could just leave you here, you know.”

She scoffed. “You know I’d find a way back. You ain’t getting rid of me.” 

“Don’t I bloody know it. Regenerated into a bloke with a beak to shake you and yet here you stand.”

“Doesn’t matter how you look to me or even who you are,” she gushed sweetly, and for a moment he looked hopeful. “All that matters is you can still show me all of time and space.” 

“ _Thin_ ice.” 

“Ooh! Let’s go ice skating!” 

He glanced around them. “Is she - are you seeing snow?” 

She rolled her eyes and linked her arm through his, slowing their walk to a lazy stroll. She was enchanted by the city in a way she couldn’t really explain. “This is New New York. Don’t tell me they haven’t brought back the ice rink yet.” 

“Alright then, let’s have a look.” He stopped in his tracks and she stopped with him. He craned his neck as his eyes flickered in their search. “Don’t know what I’m hoping to find by looking this way.” 

She cackled and looked around, too. She could hear the faint thumps of music, perhaps a live show. She thought about it for a moment, and he watched her. 

His tilted his head. “Go get a New Manhattan in New Manhattan?” 

“Hmm.” She chewed her bottom lip as she thought about sitting at a bar, just the two of them. Nice - pleasant, in fact - but something missing. “Maybe. It’d be nice to catch something live? Comedy act? Bit of old school rhythm n’ blues, or some jazz to tickle your fancy?”

He shook his head definitively; it surprised her.

“What, not a jazz fan anymore?” 

He sniffed. “I suppose not. That’s sad.” 

She watched him, the way his eyes flickered as he thought about something, the corners of his mouth slightly turned down and the small hint of a creased brow. Her own smile formed as she thought of the next event on their night’s agenda. If she looked hard enough at him, she could just about make out the rolled-up jumper sleeves with palms outstretched as he reached for the higher notes of _Westlife_ and the muffled screeches of _Nirvana_.

She took his hand and pulled him forward. “Come with me.” 


	3. Part three

She finally managed to contain her giggles and put the bottle of champagne back in the ice bucket. “So apparently you’re still tone-deaf.” 

He picked the bottle straight back out, finishing it off in his glass. “It was wishful thinking on my behalf, I’ll admit.”

“Less _The Cure_ inclined and a bit more _Dexters Midnight Runners_.”

“Both _dreadfully_ inaccurate guesses at my taste old and new - I’ll forgive not knowing the new me’s but the _old_ one? _The Cure?”_

“Did you or did you not once tell me that _Disintegration_ was one of the greatest albums ever written?”

“I stand by it -” he held his head high and toasted his glass to the air “- but _did we or did we not_ have a 90s Pop-Off coming back from _Take That_ at the _Nobody Else Tour_ in Manchester?”

She chuckled, but then her heart pinched at the memory of the two of them, giddy from their trip to the _Nynex_ and singing Take That anthems back at home with a wooden spoon as a mic. They’d never done this - hire out a private karaoke booth for a bit of KTV - but they always said they would. The TARDIS kitchen was just as well, but it was nice to have food and champagne brought to their room at the push of a button. Plus, the microphones here had various settings on them that the other could control, and she was having a lark of a time fiddling with his settings whenever he was mid-ballad. Her particular favourite was his pout whenever he’d try his best at maintaining the long notes in _Together in Electric Dreams_ but she’d throw him off by shifting his pitch control. 

She watched him flick through the channels and she couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was squinting. Needlessly.

“Glasses. You wear glasses now, remember?”

“Oh, yes!” He patted down his pockets, standing up when he couldn’t find them. “Don’t tell me I left them in the TARDIS.”

“I’ll add ‘forgetful’ to the list of new qualities you possess.”

“When you get to nearly a thousand, you forget a thing or two," he pointed out. While he picked up every cushion in this little karaoke booth and searched behind them she smirked at her chance to grab the last cinnamon roll. Too lost in his quest to find his glasses, she pinched the last of his pork dumpling, too. 

_“Glasses, glasses,"_ she’d hear him murmur every now and then. She wasn’t sure if he was mindlessly calling out for the thing he was looking for, or whether he was getting a feel for the word on his new tongue. “Glasses.”

“Specs?”

“Oooh, specs! I like that.” He clicked his fingers at her. “Specs. Specs. Spectacles. Blergh - _specs_.” He picked up his coat, searching through the pockets. His eyes widened with his smile when he pulled them out. “Ah-ha!” 

“Thank the lord!” she sang sarcastically. “For a minute there I thought maybe _we’d_ disintegrate.”

He pulled a face of disapproval. “Not your best.” He sank down next to her, reaching out for the bag of salted popcorn before he realised she'd emptied it. “Greedy pig.”

“We needed more champagne anyway,” she offered as her defence. 

He clicked his fingers and nodded in agreement. She fiddled with her one of the straps on her heel whilst he called for - well, he originally was going for the full works but she recommended toning it down - some more food and drinks. “I hope you’ve got the money to pay for this cos I haven’t got a dollar left.”

“I know well by now that if you’re taking me out on a date, I’m paying.”

“Oh, you might be right there I'm afraid.” 

The Doctor shortly afterwards slumped back down next to her, the fresh tray of snacks balancing in the middle of them. He swung his legs over the back of the futon and up the wall, his head now resting next to her lap. He was looking up at the ceiling, apparently lost in concentration so she took a moment to take him in. He was _handsome_ , there was no doubt about that. Even here, in fact especially here, under these neon purples and blues, cool glows casting light and shadow across his already well-sculpted face. 

She could sense this was going to be a big problem. She could practically feel her mouth salivating as her eyes trailed down his neck, following the groove of his Adam's apple as he swallowed down to the small hollow at the knot of his collar bone, now exposed by the undoing of his top button and loosening of his tie. 

_Why did he have to wear a suit?_ Rose fought back to keep the groan inaudible - she was almost 100% certain it was common knowledge that a man is 10 times hotter in a suit. And why is she feeling all flustered by the added element of _geeky?_ His glasses, his converse, the fact that his hair was almost as big as his knowledge. Admittedly, she’d had half a bottle of champagne and a mojito by this point, but she vaguely recalled feeling the same way over the past week.

Her groan was audible that time, so she covered it up by swinging her legs over the futon too, mirroring his position with her head next to his. She caught sight of her legs, bare now and on show, and she would feel a little uncomfortable if she were not now admiring them herself.

“Nice.” He pointed to them.

She blinked. “What?”

“The dress.” 

“I'm sorry?” 

“You look - the dress, it looks good on you.”

Her cheeks flushed furiously and she tried to cover it up, knowing full well his extraterrestrial senses caught every inch of it. “Are you just trying to get me to tell you that, actually, the suit does look good on you?”

He huffed. “Thought I’d give _'handing out compliments'_ a try, but I see it was not well received.”

She flattened her dress and pulled it a bit further down her legs, aware that it had started to bunch up in the demands of gravity. “Thank you. For the compliment.” 

“Too late now. I’m going back to scowling and shrugging when you ask me ' _does this look alright?'.”_

“That’s a whole new kettle of fish, the etiquette behind answering that question when a woman asks you.”

“There’s an _etiquette_ now?” She heard him sniff, and she turned her head to look at him. “Last I heard, a nice and simple _‘you look splendid’_ sufficed, what else have I got to do these days?”

“It sounds like you’re telling me the last time you paid somebody a complement was in the 1830s.”

“I believe it was 1869, wasn't it, when I took you to Cardiff?”

She giggled, keeping her eyes on him when he turned to grin back at her. Her laugh faded to a gentle smile and so did his, their eyes flickering as they watched each other, lost in their own thoughts. She thought perhaps he might be remembering that night, too.

She was promptly interrupted when she heard his hand rustle about the tray of snacks. He opted for some cookies, and she nicked the top one first, surprised to have not been met by his protests.

“Oh, no. I do not like those.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Rose looked down at her half-finished cookie, confused.

“Dunno. The caramel, I think. Which is a huge shame. But probably good for the waistline.”

“What do you mean _‘the caramel’?”_

“It’s sort of like a liquid sugar-“

“No you twit, I mean you’ve always liked caramel, in every shape and size and variety." She finished the rest of the cookie off and nicked his from his hand. "Was starting to think you had a bit of an unhealthy attachment to it, to be honest.”

“Well, I dunno what I like now, do I? New taste buds n’ all that.”

_“Shut up!"_

“I’m being serious!” he chuckled. “Whole new mouth, whole new tongue, whole new teeth. Whole new likes and dislikes and everything! Everything’s a blank slate, no idea whether I’ll like something or not.”

“But you still like chips, right?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. Never been a man alive who doesn’t.”

She chewed her bottom lip, mulling something over. 

“What?”

“C’mon,” she said, pulling herself up and yanking him up with her. "It's time we put those tastebuds of yours to the test."


	4. Part four

“I’ve always wanted to try one of these.”

“Well, tonight’s your lucky night, Rose Tyler.”

They grinned at each other, before linking arms and setting foot in the restaurant. 

They were greeted by a particularly well dressed and presented hostess. Rose felt a flare in her stomach and the way said waitress looked at the Doctor. _That’s_ something she’d spotted happening a lot more: he was getting _noticed_. Her old Doctor, goofy though he was and terribly handsome to Rose, didn’t used to get this much attention. She had him all to herself and that was more than fine by her. But even _she_ was getting more looks now, like she was being _assessed_. She’d never felt more on show, and she wasn’t particularly sure yet whether she liked it, nor was she absolutely sure it came from being on the arm of this new Doctor and not from the fact that she felt more confident these days, more sure of herself. 

The Doctor flashed his psychic paper, the only way the could have booked a table in a restaurant like this so late in advance. The hostess - Sophie, according to her name tag - explained exactly what was about to happen once they entered the dark room, and ran through a lot of legal declarations and requirements.

“Do you have any allergies that we need to be made aware of?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” The Doctor shrugged.

She nudged him. “No, he’s kidding. No allergies.”

“Oh,” the waitress laughed, a little too girlishly for Rose’s liking. “That’s funny.”

They followed her through a set of doors, and then another, before they found themselves completely enveloped in darkness. Proper, pitch-black void darkness, where she felt wary of every step she made. They had been instructed to hold onto the hostess to their table and it was only once Rose felt the Doctor stumble a fair bit less than her did she remember that he had better eyesight anyway. This whole ‘dining in the dark’ thing was probably just ‘dining’ for him. 

They sat down and were told how the process works. Drinks weren’t simply drinks - or at least, she couldn’t order a lemonade. They were given words such as _‘Sapphire Breeze’_ and _‘Prancing Llama Elixir’_ with no further information, so they took one each and they were left alone.

“You can see everything, can’t you.”

“No!”

“Liar.”

“Fine. I can see a bit.”

“How many fingers am I holding up.”

“None.”

The bugger was right.

“For god’s sake,” she growled. “This was supposed to be about finding out what foods you like! Can’t do it if you know what’s in front of you. Psychology ’n all that, and you’ve had _900 years_ of associations.”

“Well, it’ll still be an experience!”

“Not good enough.” She stood up, feeling her way across the table. She reached him, and made a particular fuss of overly touching his face to annoy him, and patted down his shoulders and chest.

“Rose, what are you doing?”

She found the knot of his tie and began to loosen it, not particularly familiar with the process herself. She heard his sigh, and then she heard his groan when he realised what she was doing. She draped in front of his eyes, tying it tight behind his head. She felt his face, touching around his eyes in an attempt to gauge how much of his sight had now been compromised. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Don’t know, actually,” he said, pleasantly surprised by the sounds of it. She felt her way back to the chair and sat back down. 

“This is weird,” she said after a minute or two. She heard him murmur across from her. “D’you know what’s weirder?”

“What?”

“I’m still getting used to your voice, so I don’t know if you’re talking or not.”

He scoffed. “Very funny. Been talking all night by now, and I _know_ you’ve been listening to at least some of it.” 

She ignored him, suppressing her laughter. She felt something, a foot perhaps, nudging her shin. 

“How ‘bout I kick your leg to alert you to every time I speak.”

“How ‘bout you you don’t?”

“Your drinks.” A male’s voice now - well, perhaps - sounded to her left and she heard the clatter of ice as the glass was put down on the table. A for more moments later and she felt another nudge at her leg and she nudged his back.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she grinned, surprised her hand-eye coordination did in fact rely so heavily on her sight. She struggled, more than she’d be willing to admit, to get the glass to her lips and she tasted the drink. Not bad. 

“How are your drinks?” The waiter asked.

She heard the Doctor whimper in surprise and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“They’re good,” she struggled to say. 

They were presented with three options for food: _‘Poached Salted Tiffany with a Crisp Drake Jelly’, ‘Ploquan Pulse Deep Sea Huntress’,_ and _‘Blanched Cinniarana in Arcane Pepper & Lime’._ None of which made sense nor indicated in any way what was to be expected, so Rose ordered _“the Jelly one”,_ and the Doctor ordered the other two. 

“I have -” he began, nudging her shin incessantly once more and she nudged him in return when he wouldn’t bloody stop trying to catch her attention “- no idea what I’m going to be eating in a min.”

“Do you think we’ll know even after we’ve eaten it?”

“I thought it was going to be something like _‘scrambled egg and toast’_ but apparently, it’s _‘Blanched Pepper and Deep Sea Turtles’.”_

“Well, _‘blanched pepper’ is_ the term they use on the black market for _‘scrambled egg’.”_

“Really? Thought it might make a good street name for you.”

She cackled. “From now on, I’m going by _‘Blanched Pepper’_ and you're _‘Deep-Sea Turtle’.”_

Even in the abyss surrounding them, she could see his smile. “Sounds good.”

The dinner was, surprisingly, tasty. She had absolutely no idea what she’d eaten of course, and they’d had a right laugh at trying to give the other a taste of their own food across the table in complete darkness. It was once they were outside again and she caught sight of his face, she realised she’d done a bloody dreadful job of reaching his mouth. 

“I know,” he spoke before she did. “I felt it, remember?”

“You’re telling me” - she couldn’t control her giggles as he rolled his eyes waiting for her - “that you stayed silent while I put, what is that, mousse? On your cheek?”

“Not mousse. _'Blossomed Emerald Nuées’.”_ He reached into his pocket in search of a tissue.

“Go on, what’s on my face?”

“Nothing!” he defended. “Impeccable aim, I have.”

She raised her eyebrow, dubious, but quite frankly too tired to care. Her feet were starting to ache, and she could feel her eyes stinging a little.

“Home?”

He smiled and took her hand. “Home.”


	5. Part five

She’d laced her arm through his again by the time they reached Central Park. Or New Central Park. Or Slightly Off-Central Park. His coat, apparently one given to him by Janice Joplin, whoever she was, was trailing on the floor behind her; he’d given it to her when she began shivering about 10 blocks back. His tie had been loosened from his head following their dinner at the restaurant and now draped around his neck, her heels in his hand after he had given her a pair of her own flats that he just so happened to carry with him in his coat pockets. She’d asked him why, but he’d tilted his head and rolled his eyes.

_“For times like these.”_

She’d never even been to the old New York before, but this one was near magical. Even though it was a rebuild, and she knew from school that Central Park was manmade anyway, the park was near identical to what she’d seen in the films, besides the occasional hovercraft and the much taller buildings dominating the world outside the pocket of an oasis in which they wandered. 

“Doing alright?” he piped, the first time either of them had spoken in a while. 

“Yeah.” She smiled up at him. “Bit tired now, I suppose.” 

“Cuppa back at the TARDIS?”

“I fancy one of those hot chocolates, actually.” She searched around for a stand. “How far away’s the TARDIS? We could grab one to go?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Rose, but I have absolutely no idea where we are in relation to the TARDIS.”

“If you mean that, then I’m going to park myself on that bench right there and wait for you to fetch her and come get me.”

“So you’ve learned to trust my parking skills now?”

She paused; he’d outwitted her there. “Good point.”

She searched around her, although with no idea what she was looking for. She supposed she was trying to gauge how much longer her feet could really stand the pain. “Right. Piggyback, then. Down you go.”

He would normally protest, but this time he didn’t. Well, he did a little, but her pout easily swayed him to acceptance. That, and he had that look in his eyes - one that he quite often had - that told her he just wanted to make her smile. He turned around and braced himself for her run to his back. She hoisted herself up and he grabbed on to the bend in her legs and she wiggled upwards to sit comfortably on his hips. 

“You ok?” she called over to him.

“Yep.”

“You got this?”

“Mmhm.”

“Sure?”

“We shall find out.”

She grinned, resting her chin on the top of his head. She blew some of his hair out of her mouth, releasing her grip around his neck to flatten it down a little. “Thanks for not mentioning any of that extra Christmas weight I’ve been carrying.” 

“Like I ever would,” he chuckled. 

“Do I need to redirect you to that time you commented on my period weight?”

“You asked me!”

“Always say no! I ask you if I’ve put weight on, _you say no._ Always!”

“Well, then why ask me?”

Her laugh was giddy, the sound of it alone mixed with his deep muffled chuckles only set her off more until his laughs became louder, her’s only quietening the more giddy she became as she tried to hold them in. Every now and then they’d start back up again - a few times he had to stop in his tracks to control himself. Their incessant laughter only drew the attention of onlookers, either too drunk to ignore them or scowling at the disturbance of their otherwise pleasant and quiet walk in the park.

“Stop it!” he giggled.

“ _You_ stop it! You’re making it worse!”

“Listen, I’ve been holding you up well up until now but if you keep making me laugh then I’m gonna drop you.”

She scoffed. “You can’t use that excuse! I could feel your legs wobbling way back before we started laughing.”

He didn’t say anything, and she pursed her lips together to contain the giggles, a harder effort when she felt him tense beneath her every time he tried to do the same.

“Oh! Ooh! Hot chocolate!” She wagged her hand, pointing frantically at the hot chocolate stand. He sighed, although jokingly she noted, and jumped to hoist her up his back further. She enrolled in another round of uncontrollable giggles when he apparently didn’t think to put her down as he got the drinks stand. They ordered two hot chocolates, with the vendor giving them a funny look and the sly eye roll there at the end, and the Doctor tried with all his might to keep her on his back until he realised carrying Rose and a hot chocolate was a logistical nightmare, so once more she found herself walking by his side. 

“Brave effort,” she deemed nonetheless, toasting her hot chocolate.

He met hers with his own. “A fine attempt indeed.”

She blew into the cup, braving a sip of the steaming contents. Instant regret, she thought, when the chocolate was somehow both bitter _and_ tasteless - chalky, in fact. It tasted like terrible cheap coffee, only of the chocolate variety. Which made it all the more heartbreaking.

“Tell me your taste buds aren’t tricking you into thinking that’s a good hot chocolate?”

“My taste buds are right there with you on this one.” He looked longingly at his cup. “Up until this point, I didn’t think it was possible to even have a bad hot chocolate.”

“You never went to my school.” She took another sip automatically before shuddering. “They used to serve them in the canteen and I can confirm that was worse than this.” 

“I dread to think.” 

Rose watched as the Doctor looked left and right every now and then, but she knew exactly what he was thinking. She kept quiet while she awaited his regrettable admission of shame. It was about ten minutes or so before he finally owned up to it.

“Right. Now I know we parked in an alley somewhere. And I know that alley was off a street. And I know that street is in New New York. What I _don’t_ know is which street that was.” 

“Well, that’s a start.”

Rose felt a tiny drop of rain fall to her cheek and she looked up at the sky, although she couldn’t see much. She had this awful picture of them, 2 minutes from now, dashing through the streets as it poured it down with rain. “Doctor?” 

“I know, cmon.”

He tugged her hand and pulled them under a tree. Rose shivered and took the opportunity to slip her arms around his waist. A new feeling: skinner, a bit more stretched, but comforting nonetheless.

“We were over on this side, I’m sure. Because we didn’t walk far until we got to the bank.” 

“Mmm.” She shuddered, the rain now starting to patter on the leaves above them more frequently. Over on a bench opposite, she could see the rain bouncing off the wood as it began to fall more ominously. “I think we’re gonna have to make a run for it.”

“Oh we’re definitely gonna have to make a run for it. Only problem is, I want to make that run as short as possible.”

Rose looked at the hot chocolate grimly before taking a large swig and chucking it in the bin. She swung his coat over her head as the rain became too persistent to ignore.

“Doctor...” she insisted impatiently. 

“Right. I’ve made a decision. Don’t know if it’s the right one, but it’s the one we’re going with.”

“Take your coat.” She handed it to him, feeling the goosebumps flare on her skin almost immediately. “I’ll trip over it otherwise.” 

She rubbed her arms in anticipation as he shrugged his coat back on. “We’re gonna make a run for that lamppost down there, then the street opposite, and just keep running.”

 _“‘Just keep running’,”_ she scoffed. “ _Now_ it feels like nothing’s changed.”

“Right, are you ready-“

“GO!”  



	6. Part six

“Better?”

“Much,” she hummed, her pyjamas softer and warmer than she'd ever remembered them following her soak in the bath. She gestured to her muddy dress on the railing, wincing at the memory and the ache in her legs and palms. “Thanks for your help, by the way.” 

“You’re a strong capable woman who can get herself out of mud,” he chuckled, then pointed at the dress. “Also, that belongs in the washing machine.” 

“You can never just accept me as I am.” She balled the dress up and chucked it over to the door - she’ll take it to the laundrette when she's next on her way out.

“A messy rascal that dumps muddy dresses all over the place, and mistakes _'the washing machine'_ for _'the floor nowhere near the washing machine'?”_ he offered, although he soon spotted a golden hair strand on the arm of his t-shirt and extracted it slowly. “ _And_ sheds her blonde hair literally _everywhere?”_

“And proud of it.”

She slumped down into the jump seat and he looked at her questioningly.

“What?” 

"It's four AM, thought you’d be out for the count by now.” 

She yawned in spite of herself, but she’d landed herself in a sticky situation where she was now too tired to get up form this seat and go to bed. “I’m alright.”

He raised his eyebrow, suspicious but agreeable. “In that case, come with me.” 

He held out his hand and she took it in trepidation, screeching when he yanked her towards the doors with a force she wasn't quite prepared for. He pulled the door open and she gasped.

They hovered not half a mile above the city, glistening golden lights below with a haze of light grey at their base, the streets encompassed in a flurry of rain as the harsh droplets reverberated the sea level below. It made the city look only taller somehow, like it was floating on a darkened cloud of its own high in the night’s sky. Rose looked up at the rain falling from above them yet still, the large droplets falling too powerfully and densely for her to withstand looking up at them for too long. She could hear a slight rumbling of thunder quite far in the distance, and the dim glow of the room behind her only lessened, allowing her to appreciate the darkened scene around her in its full. 

“Wow,” she said rather needlessly, holding onto his hand to steady her as she lowered herself to sit down. She felt him grasp her hand tighter in support so that she could sit, her legs dangling over the edge of the TARDIS, and marvel at what lay before her. She just about registered him slumping down next to her, swinging his legs in front of him too. 

She completely lost herself in it. She felt a drop of rain every now and then fall on her socks, and she outstretched her leg to see just how far the TARDIS was protecting them from the cold. She became mesmerised by the size of the city, in all its grandeur, paling in size now next to her own feet. “Would you rather be in it or watching it?” 

“Depends on the weather.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” she scoffed. 

“Oh, in it. Any day.” 

She snapped her hands to his arm and gave him a light jolt outwards. “Off you go then.” 

He grabbed the door in a moment of panic, but his fear was short-lived when he realised she had him safely in her hold. “You’re funny.” 

She hummed in agreement and brought her feet up, crossing them underneath her and wrapping her arms around his. 

“Thank you, for everything. All this.” 

“You are very welcome,” he said cordially with a smile. 

She released his arm, and she felt him nudge her.

“Thank you, for coming with me.” 

“You are very welcome.” 

She shivered and she heard him chuckle in response. He gathered himself up and a few moments later she felt his jacket drape over her shoulders. 

“A new jacket,” she mused. 

“Bit miffed that it fits you.” 

She laughed, holding onto him steady as he clambered back down next to her. She pointed to his socks, dotted in mismatched fruits.

“Nice.”

“Thank you.” 

“They the one's mum got you for Christmas?”

“That they are.” 

She swung herself around to lean on the doorframe, her eyes beginning to sting. She gave one last look at the city before she let the waves of exhaustion take over and closed her eyes.

“If I start to see you topple over the edge, I’ll do my best to grab you.”

“Comforting.”

His voice softened, and she could hear the small smile through it. “You sure you don’t just want to go to bed?”

“No,” she murmured, it becoming now more effortful to speak. She gathered just enough energy to shift her legs to lay over his lap and she felt his cool palm rest above her pyjamas. “I’m good right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Goodness, isn't it wonderful to think of these two prancing about New New York like a couple of daft old fools, falling in love with each other all over again? (Admittedly, the Doctor needn't fall back in love with Rose, the man just died for her.)
> 
>  _new earth_ is 6 chapters spanning the course of one night, and was written from Rose's point of view to give us a bit of insight into how she felt on their first adventure as she adjusted to their new dynamic.
> 
> ***
> 
> This series has already been written, so expect regular updates! I've enjoyed writing it, exploring their relationship during each episode and how it evolved over the entire series. It's been a large project in the works for a good few months (years if you include the time I spent _thinking_ about writing it!), and I hope you enjoy it too! x


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